


Like Juliet out on the Fire Escape

by abcooper



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abcooper/pseuds/abcooper
Summary: Lena doesn't like being rescued; she'd rather rescue herself, all things considered. Supergirl is there to rescue her anyways.





	

There are so many people who want to kill her. It weighs on the back of her mind, sometimes - a small familiar fear that she shoulders as routinely as her purse before heading out the door.

Lena’s not helpless though. For one thing, the purse in question contains her own, far more effective version of pepper spray.

Sometimes she feels like she’s dedicated every day since Lex to fighting that fear, and somewhere along the line she’d gotten so busy with it that she forgot to also be a person.

Now, with the heel of her expensive shoe broken and dangling, and her purse out of reach where she’d left it in the bar, she has the wild thought that she should laugh - it isn’t the Luthor name that’s going to take her down. This shaky kid with the gun doesn’t even know who she is.

All that time, all that fear, and she’s going to die just like everyone else.

“No sudden moves, just throw your purse and phone on the ground,” he tells her, and Lena obligingly tosses her phone toward him. He sounds like he’s quoting out of a movie, but Lena couldn’t say whether it’s because the movies she’s watching are on-point, or because this kid is drawing on the same netflix queue she is.

He doesn’t look like he’s ever done this before. His face is obscured by what looks like a cut piece of pantyhose of all things, but she can see that he’s white and gangly and shaking a little, and she thinks he might still be a teenager. None of that changes the fact that the gun in his hand is very real, and that he is keeping his finger solidly on the trigger.

“Your purse…” he prompts and thrusts the gun at her.

“I don’t have it,” she admits, spreading her arms wide so that he can see that she’s telling the truth. His eyes linger over her body, and she regrets the motion - the little black dress she’d chosen for this function wasn’t meant to be especially covering, even before her frantic motions backward against the wall had pushed the fabric up her thighs.  He looks like he doesn’t believe her, so she adds, “I just came outside for a smoke - I left it on the table.”

That was the truth. She’d left it on purpose - she was afraid that once she got outside, she’d be too tempted to just take off for home, and she couldn’t cut out early from a party with so many potential L-Corp investors. The real business didn’t happen in the boardroom, Lionel had always been fond of saying.

She prays that this kid will believe her, that he’ll just take the phone and go. She’d ducked into this alley with her cigarette specifically because it was empty and out of sight, and she’d felt that if she couldn’t have just 5 minutes alone, truly alone, she might scream. That doesn’t mean that it’s actually isolated. Surely the kid wants this to be over as much as she does, surely he’ll take what he can get and just -

Instead, he eyes her, and her heart stops at the considering tilt of his head, before he says, “take off the dress.”

“What - why -” she starts weakly.

“It looks like it’s worth a fortune - take it off,” he repeats. His voice, which had started out shaky, is getting firmer. Still, Lena makes one more attempt.

“You don’t really want to do this, it’s not -” she starts, and faster than her eyes can track it, something hard slams into her cheek, making her cry out.

It’s not until seconds later that she realizes he’d slammed the gun into her face. She can taste blood dripping into her mouth, maybe from a split lip, but somehow it doesn’t hurt. Or she can tell that it must hurt, but she isn’t feeling it yet. Numbly, she reaches for her zipper.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone walk in?”

The shooter wheels around, and Lena stares at the bright primary colors standing out against the dingy alley. Supergirl’s cape is even fluttering a little in the fall breeze. Her eyes are hard and angry and she looks like an avenging angel.

There’s a bang and Lena flinches, and it’s like her brain is running on slow motion, only figuring out that that was a gunshot, that it had bounced harmlessly off of Supergirl’s chest, after Supergirl has already crumpled the gun in her fist, tossing it to the side. The shooter cries out - Supergirl broke his trigger finger wresting the gun out of his grasp. _Really_ broke it - the angle at which it is hanging off his hand is gruesome, and there is blood streaming where the bone has broken through the skin.

Supergirl tosses him to the side easily, and he bounces off the brick wall to land in a crumpled heap. She doesn’t even look to see, already starting forward.

“Lena, are you alright?”

Lena holds her off by stooping to retrieve her cellphone, busily checking to be sure that it’s undamaged. It has a new text message. ‘If you’re done with your smoke break, darling, they’ve started bringing out the entrees.’

When she looks up, Supergirl is watching her with concerned blue eyes. She makes a decision.

“Take me home, please, Supergirl.”

“I - what?” the girl looks surprised. “I need to call the police, they’ll want to talk to you…”

“They’ll have been called,” Lena assures her, though she’s not half as sure as she sounds. “This isn’t the kind of neighborhood where a gunshot goes unnoticed. I’d like to be out of here before they arrive, L-Corp hardly needs the press.”

Supergirl looks torn, biting at her lip, but Lena doesn’t have time for her to dither; she can feel the wave of panic that is about to come crashing down onto her, and she will _not_ cry in front of a cocktail party full of investors that have committed a 1000 more heinous crimes than the boy crumpled against the wall.

“Kara, take me home,” she repeats, distantly hearing the break in her own voice. Did she mean to do that? She must have done - she must have wanted to convince Kara to listen to her, that’s all.

“OK, I’ve got you,” Kara says, and strong arms wrap themselves around Lena’s shoulders, bundling her close and then lifting her up as though she’s a child ready to be carried to bed.

Kara is warm, and Lena buries her face into the crook of her neck and inhales, breathing in the clean scent of shampoo and skin. Her stomach jerks as they take off into the air.

Even in November, National City is still warm enough that the breeze of flight doesn’t chill Lena’s skin. Or maybe she’s protected from it by Kara’s heat, pressed deliciously against her as Kara cradles Lena’s body to her chest. It feels so safe. She is well and truly rescued.

“Thank you,” Lena finally says. “For rescuing me.”

She can’t see Kara’s face, she’s keeping her eyes firmly buried against Kara, but she feels the arms around her tighten briefly in something like a hug. “Any time,” Kara answers a little teasingly, and then adds, “seriously, Lena. You’re safe. I will _always_ rescue you.”

A sob works its way out of Lena’s throat. Just one, before she manages to silence herself again, counting her breaths in and out until she’s sure that they’ll stay even on their own.

She can tell Kara heard her, though. For one thing, there is now a thumb stroking back and forth between her shoulder blades in a soothing motion.

“I’m alright,” she reassures Kara dryly. “I suppose I’m just dealing with some shattered illusions. It's a nice sentiment you're offering, but I’ve always wanted to believe that I can rescue myself.” The thumb stills.

“Lena…” Kara’s voice is soft, made heavy and gentle by the weight of understanding in it, and Lena tenses herself for the inevitable assurances, but instead Kara just says, “look.”

Lena obeys, lifting her head so that she can see around her, and her breath catches in her throat. National City is beautiful against the night, webs of light glittering beneath them.

“It’s lovely,” she murmurs.

“I love looking down on the city,” Kara answers. “Each of those lights represents a person, just - going about their night. Their cars, their TVs, their dinners...how many of those lights do you think would have been extinguished if you hadn’t stopped Miner’s weapon? If you hadn’t stopped the Medusa virus?”

They're both silent for a moment, looking down at the city. “That’s kind of cheesy,” Lena finally says. She thinks Kara hears what she really means, though.

“I’m just saying, you’re a hero, Lena Luthor,” Kara tells her firmly. “It’s alright if you occasionally get a little help with it. Rescuing can be a give-and-take.”

Lena doesn’t answer. Instead, she lays her head back down against Kara’s shoulder. National City is beautiful, but it can’t compete with the feeling of Kara’s pulse beating against her cheek.

 

 

When they land, Kara sets her down gently. Lena blinks, looking around, and it takes her a moment to realize that Kara has landed them on the fire escape outside her apartment. She can’t help but laugh.

“If I’m going to need rescuing often, I should really invest in an apartment with a balcony…” she says teasingly, and shoves open the window to her living room, grateful that she hadn’t left it locked. She hears her security system click in response and walks over to the front hall to disarm it, leaving Kara to clamber in behind her - from the sound of it, somewhat gracelessly.

When she turns back, Kara is standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room, peering around at her modernist decor. “I like your apartment,” she says earnestly, and Lena laughs.

“Can I get you a drink, or do you have cats to rescue from trees?” she asks, and Kara fidgets in place.

“I think we should talk a bit,” she says. “Earlier, you called me Kara, and I don’t…” Lena rolls her eyes, effectively cutting off the denial that Kara is about to stammer out.

“Lex is my brother,” she reminds Kara a little impatiently, as though anyone has ever for an instant forgotten that about her. “I know who Clark Kent is. I grew up with him.”

Kara huffs a light laugh. “Well, that’s more than I did,” she says, and something about her tone suggests a _wealth_ of meaning, but Lena bookmarks it to come back to another day.

“I figured out who you were about eleven seconds after you followed him into my office to interview me. I’m not going to tell anyone,” she says instead.

“Oh, I know,” Kara says immediately, and Lena tries not to be warmed by the easy faith Kara always proclaims in her. People don’t always mean the things they say. “That’s not really what I was worried about. It’s just - are we ok?” When Lena stares at her, uncomprehending, she hastens to add, “not that I’m calling you prejudiced or anything, but I know you and I have… _different_ opinions about aliens, and your friendship is really important to me, and I just - if you have any questions, or if you need to talk about anything, I mean I probably won’t do a very good job of it, but-”

“Kara, stop,” Lena cuts her off gently. She doesn’t know what to say. “Let’s sit,” she suggests, and busies herself for a moment with getting comfortable on her couch while she thinks of what to say. Kara follows suit, and Lena just looks at her, at the earnest blue eyes and blonde hair and kindness that radiates off of her. How can she hear that Lena - a _Luthor_ \- has the power to destroy her, and only worry about their friendship?

“We’re OK,” she promises, and the smile lights up Kara’s face.

“Good,” she says, and then her expressive eyes darken again as she adds, “are _you_ OK? That guy-”

“I’m fine, Kara,” Lena assures her, and is surprised to realize she means it. “It was frightening for a moment, and I’m a little annoyed that I left my purse at the party, but that’s all. I, um… I liked flying.”

She wonders if Kara can hear what she’s really saying - that Kara’s arms around her had been the most comforting thing she can imagine, and that Kara wanting to protect their relationship more than she wants to protect herself is like balm on a wound that is 30 years deep.

Kara just smiles at her though, and says, “I’ll see if I can grab it for you later. As Kara, not as Supergirl, I wouldn’t want to draw attention to your disappearance. How's your face?" She reaches out and runs a gentle finger over Lena's split lip. "It doesn't look too bad. Do you have any ice cream? I think ice cream is the best cure for a shitty night, my sister and I always -”

Lena kisses her.

She didn’t know she was going to do it until she is, grabbing Kara by the collar and pulling her sideways on the couch so that their lips collide. It only lasts for a moment before Lena’s brain catches up to her and she lets go, pulling back a little to gauge Kara’s reaction.

Kara looks stunned, her mouth open in a little o of shock.

“I apologize,” Lena says primly, pulling back on herself. “I think maybe I’m in shock.” It’s a lie, but she’s not above using an attempted mugging to wipe away the consequences of the past 30 seconds.

“Oh,” Kara says, and Lena's hope lurches back to life, because she sounds disappointed. Then she visibly gathers her courage and adds, “well, sometime when you’re not in shock, if you’d - if you’d like to do it again, that could be nice.”

“Nice?” Lena repeats, and feels the smile breaking out on her face. “I’m used to my kisses being considered better than ‘nice’, Supergirl.”

“Very nice?” Kara tries, an answering smile on her own face, and then she leans back in.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for the heroine/damsel cliche. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
